Checklist-A-Day Challenge

Checklist-A-Day Challenge

On January 1, 2018, I embarked on a lofty goal: to submit an eBird checklist every single day that year. This was inspired by a checklist-a-day challenge, sponsored by eBird, for a chance to win a pair of binoculars. Most days I easily fulfilled my goal with at least one bird outing each day, even if it was as simple as watching birds from my window or as I walked to work. On other days, I had to peel myself away from whatever was occupying my time to sneak in an uninspired bird count. But by December 31, 2018, I had done it: 365 consecutive days of eBird lists.

What started as a fun annual goal became a multi-year obsession.

Daily birding became such a happy habit that I continued it through 2019. I kept going in 2020, where it was especially useful to keep me grounded through the pandemic. 2021 was another nutty year, but I documented the birds in eBird every single day. Then in 2022, in spite of a move and a hellishly hot summer, I managed to log in my birds.

It’s a couple weeks into 2023 and I see no signs of stopping this practice. It’s relaxing and meditative, while connecting me with nature for a little bit every single day. In my new area, curious (or perhaps suspicious) neighbors stop to ask me why I’m wearing binoculars in the neighborhood, and it’s been a great opportunity to raise a little awareness of local birds. Perhaps it will plant a seed of interest for a future conservationist, or at least someone who will appreciate and care for the birds.

After five years, I haven’t won a pair of binoculars from the eBird challenge, but I’ve gained so much more by inviting a rich birding experience that threads through each day of the year.

Christmas Bird Count 2022

Christmas Bird Count 2022

I am not a morning person. I laid in bed at 5:45 am, after a bad night of sleep, pondering my decision to set my alarm so early in the morning. What could possibly pull me out from under my pile of warm blankets into the frosty 30 degree weather?

A few weeks before today, a local birder contacted me requesting that I join this year’s Christmas Bird Count (CBC). I’ve always wanted to participate in this event, but lingering questions gave me pause. What if it rains or if it’s too cold? What if I feel sick? Each year I ended up passing up the opportunity.

This year, after comforting assurances that I could cancel at the last minute if needed, I signed up for the Stockton count. Snuggled up in bed, I wondered what would await me today.

Fog. That’s what would await me. Dense, cold fog.

Our team leader modified the plans to take advantage of the fog clearing by noon. We started with a tour of the local country roads. Vast vineyards as far as the eye could see (in this case, about a quarter mile) revealed typical species of various sparrows, finches, and blackbirds. We were greeted with our first Lark Sparrow for the county, and another location sported a lovely Red-breasted Sapsucker – another county lifer.

What was most valuable to me during this first part of the census was learning how to navigate country road birding. I always wondered how birders would find neat birds along rural roads where there was no obvious hotspot. Now I know that it’s common to pull off the side of a country road (if it’s safe and legal) and scout for birds. It’s OK to run an eBird list while driving, provided it stays within five miles. It goes without saying that it’s also important to respect homeowners and their properties. One very kind resident permitted us to wander onto her property for a peek at the birds – what a thrill to walk around a house with acreage all around and beautiful chickens clucking at you!

After several hours of driving the roads, we headed over to the Lodi Sewage Ponds. The fog was stubbornly holding in place in spite of the forecast. We could just barely make out Bonaparte Gulls, a couple of Common Goldeneyes, and flocks of Black-necked Stilts. An American Kestrel peered over the ponds from a fence. I wonder if the kestrel had better luck seeing the birds than us. I’ll be excited to try out this area again when there’s more visibility. I’m not sure what it really looks like yet.

We committed to a half day of the CBC this year and paused around 1pm. We said our goodbyes to our birding companions as they continued on to finish the full day of census-taking. Overall, it was a great experience. We discovered new places and approaches to birding, and added seven new county birds to our list. All this while adding valuable data for science and conservation efforts. I will certainly consider joining a future CBC.

Joys of Lawns

Joys of Lawns

I hate lawns.

When I was renting an apartment in the city, I didn’t have to worry about lawn care. The landlord’s gardeners did the required upkeep, and I rarely paid attention to the process, except to feel sad when all the pretty yellow flowers (“weeds”) were hacked off. Apparently, I like the look of longer, wild grass.

Now living in a house, we’ve been thrust into the confusing realm of lawn maintenance. We didn’t want to hire gardeners, figuring we could cut the lawn ourselves. It’s just grass, how hard can that be?

Apparently pretty hard. A combination of record-breaking heat starting earlier than ever in this area, combined with city water restrictions (which I have no qualms about – let’s save water!), the lawn was not happy. We let much of it grow longer for fear of shocking it into submission.

The birds loved the longer grass. I would see birds digging around our lawn and not in the neighbors’ neatly manicured plots. My guess is that less disruption to the grass promoted more life with insects and other food goodies.

Today, a California Scrub-Jay visited the backyard lawn with an enormous nut in its beak. I watched it poke around the grass, trying to find that sweet spot in which to cache it for the winter. I could almost hear its thoughts, “Nope, this spot’s no good. How about here? Ugh, that’s worse! Oh, THIS is the right spot!” Once carefully selected, the jay hammered the nut into the soft ground, like an Acorn Woodpecker shoving an acorn into a tree. Then the jay spent a good two minutes collecting nearby grass to cover its food prize. Little mouthfuls of dried grass slowly covered the spot. It even topped it off with a flower.

I guess a lawn isn’t so bad after all!

Neighborhood Surprise

Neighborhood Surprise

I am a creature of habit. I’ll often return to the same, familiar spot repeatedly. In my new neighborhood, that means circling a little park on a near-daily basis. So far, this tiny area has yielded 53 birds since June. That’s a lot more than I would have expected for a manicured lawn with very few trees.

I left for my walk around the park to satisfy my habitual morning routine, yet this time, something was tugging at me to explore a bit more. Outside of the neighborhood is another housing development, but next to that is a marshy field encased in wire fencing. It’ll likely be slated for development at some point. But for now, something urged me to check it out.

I was first drawn in by the seets of sparrows, but they were difficult to locate. The grasses and weeds had grown long, offering cover for foraging sparrows. Once in a while, a sparrow would poke out just long enough for a brief look through the binoculars. White-crown Sparrows, a Song Sparrow, and Savannah Sparrows dominated, until we heard the buzzy seet of a Lincoln’s Sparrow – county lifer #99. Four Lincoln Sparrows eventually popped into view. I looked closely just to make sure there were no Vesper Sparrows sporting a white eye ring among them. I’m not sure if we get Vesper Sparrows here, but it’s good to look anyways!

This little marshy area also housed a couple of Marsh Wrens – a pleasant surprise given that the surrounding area is either housing development or endless fields of almond trees.

We accidentally startled a couple of birds that were rather shorebird-like. My first thought was that they were dowitchers, but this habitat didn’t match up. After searching a bit (and again accidentally flushing them due to their terrific camouflage), I was delighted to figure out that they were Wilson’s Snipes. Now that’s a treat! I hope we didn’t scare them too much and that they will stick around. I’ll have to be more careful when birding along the fence next time.

New Adventures

New Adventures

Several months ago, I bid farewell to the Bay Area. I said goodbye to my neighborhood chickadees, juncos and nuthatches, and did some final visits to the bay waters and peeps. I was sad to leave these special birds that have melted my heart for so many years.

But I knew that new adventures were ahead. I eagerly reviewed eBird lists to see what new birds I might see regularly in my new town. Swainson’s Hawks! Yellow-billed Magpies! Sandhill Cranes! It seems like the Central Valley is filled with goodies and exciting new opportunities to explore. In fact, on the day we moved, we were greeted by a friendly neighborhood Black-chinned Hummingbird. This is a good sign.

Except we moved in June. And during a year with record-breaking heat waves. My Bay Area 80-degrees-is-too-hot mentality was quickly shattered by countless triple digits days. Who the heck can bird in that heat? I resorted to brief early morning walks around the local neighborhood park. That was the only birding I snuck in for months.

During these walks, I became familiar with the local scene. Black-chinned and Anna’s Hummingbirds fiercely battled each other for the right to sit atop a certain tree (while ignoring all the other available trees). Barn Swallows nested in a certain house and loved to dive around the field after the city mowers kicked up bugs. Northern Mockingbirds loved to sing. Loudly. In the middle of the night. Eurasian Collared-Doves mobbed every street lamp, scooting starlings out of their way. What a scene.

Fast forward to mid-September, which brought cooler temperatures. And by “cooler” I mean mid-90s. Migration should start soon. What would that look like in this little neighborhood park?

I found a Say’s Phoebe, which was previously unreported in this spot. I had to submit details to confirm a correct a ID. Without a camera, it was a great opportunity to really take in its features. I took this bird for granted in the Bay Area. Now, it’s a treat that one is calling this little park it’s home for the time being.

The first day of fall was marked with nice weather and a clear sky that wasn’t pierced by the blazing summer sun. The Say’s Phoebe was joined by a second one and they called to each other while bouncing from sand pile to treetops. I heard geese in the sky, probably the Canada Geese I’ve seen a few times. Except, these geese sounded weird. My foggy summer bird brain sluggishly flipped through its media library. What the heck sounds like a rattle?

Or a bugle.

CRANES!

I whipped up the binoculars just as a “V” of Sandhill Cranes flew overhead. Yes! I can see cranes migrating from my little park!

In the days after, I had quick visits from a couple of Yellow Warblers and an Orange-crowned Warbler. A Western Tanager made a brief appearance. White-crowned Sparrows have shyly started to emerge singing their familiar tunes. The notorious Yellow-rumped Warblers are also now here, announcing their presence with a solid “CHIP” note. They all like to hang out along one side of the park. How fascinating to see the birds carve out their niches as they arrive.

I look forward to new birding adventures in my new county.

Winter Birding in Arizona

Winter Birding in Arizona

Sandhill Cranes

Sandhill Cranes, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

I’m delighted to post this story by guest writer Cassondra Wiley. Join me in reading about her recent birding adventures in Arizona during the winter! -Elizabeth

I’d been to the southeastern region of Arizona before. Winter is not known as its most optimal time for bird activity, but even in late December, the birding had been exceptional. Sitting before the feeders of the Santa Rita Lodge in the Madera Canyon area, I’d seen fiery red Summer Tanagers and Rivoli’s Hummingbirds with shimmering emerald throats. At Patagonia Lake State Park, there had been abundant Bridled Titmice, with their boldly drawn facial lines. In Picacho State Park, there had been the shadowy dark shapes of Black Vultures gracefully spiraling in the sky. My life list grew and I was left with the impression that no matter the season, southeastern Arizona is THE place for birding.

Bridled Titmouse

Bridled Titmouse, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

Three years have passed since that initial excursion. After years of overwork without days off, I finally had a bit of time for myself, once again in late December. I thumbed through an old field guide for the birds of Arizona, its cover adorned with images of the Elegant Trogon, a reincarnation of rainbows in bird-form. I watched videos of birders hiking through canyons in the Sierra Vista area, stumbling upon the inquisitive, childishly round faces of Spotted Owls. I did not set my hopes so high as to imagine finding birds as rare and spectacular as these, but I did expect to check a few new birds off my life list.

Roseate Spoonbill

Roseate Spoonbill, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

On the drive into Arizona, we stopped at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve. On my previous visit to the state, the Curve-billed Thrashers had been secretive, but on this day, they bravely faced the daylight, sang their boisterous tunes, and blessed me with prolonged looks at their sunshine yellow eyes. The tiny Verdin, with their glowing, golden faces, flitted about in their restless manner. Gambel’s Quail chased each other in every corner of the preserve, topknots jauntily bouncing as they ran. We easily found the cotton candy pink Roseate Spoonbill who had defied his expected range of existence and decided to settle in the Phoenix suburb. The color, the exotically shaped bill, the uniqueness from any bird I’d ever seen before, had to be expressed by a little victory dance as I nabbed my first lifer of the trip. This was merely a stop along the way; it wasn’t even part of the “real” birding trip about to unfold. My expectations ballooned.

But they were quickly deflated.

We hiked through the canyons I had seen in videos where happy birders went home with shots of Spotted Owls and trogons. Battered by relentless, frigid winds, I kept trying, hoping that I, too, would be rewarded with a special bird. But none came. In fact, there were barely any birds at all. There were a couple of Mexican Jays. A Red-naped Sapsucker clung to a tree and crept in circles along the bark. And that was it. Not a single other bird was seen or heard. We went through supposed hotspots in Willcox, finding no birds other than a Canyon Towhee. We walked down a trail that had boasted regular sightings of a Grey Catbird, only to be drenched by an abrupt unleashing of water from the sky. A couple of locals explained, apologetically, that this had been a relatively dry year in the area, leading to a lack of growth of the foods their birds favor. Without their favorite foods, it seemed, the birds did not feel like lingering.

Pyrrhuloxia

Pyrrhuloxia, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

This is not to say that the trip was entirely unrewarding. We saw thousands upon thousands of Sandhill Cranes flood the sky at sunrise. At bird feeders, we saw at least a dozen Pyrrhuloxia, my favorite bird in all of Arizona, with their blood-red, rebellious crests and odd, stubby bills. I spotted a Painted Redstart, with its splash of scarlet cutting through its yin-and-yang boldly contrasting black and white pattern. But I had expected… more. I thought I would expand my life list. I thought I would track down the Crested Caracara that I had so desperately wanted last time, but couldn’t find. I thought I’d surely see the Scaled Quail that are supposed to litter the grasslands in the area. And none of this was happening.

Painted Redstart

Painted Redstart, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

On our last day in Arizona, stubbornly standing beneath a minimally protective shelter at the Paton Center for Hummingbirds, with rain being propelled sideways by increasingly potent, icy winds, something small silently (or perhaps silenced by the onslaught of wind and rain) zipped past me. It perched briefly on a feeder, its red, needle-like bill probing for nectar. Its white throat and belly were striking against its dull green back and purple crown. There, at our very last spot for the trip, the birds of Arizona sent me–shivering and completely soaked–a peace-offering in apology for their underwhelming showing: a lifer and a beautiful one, at that. The Violet-crowned Hummingbird became my 368th bird and the hard-won victory for days of cold, wet failure at the game of birding.

Violet-crowned Hummingbird

Violet-crowned Hummingbird, Arizona 2021. Photo by Rod Jimenez.

Upon arriving home, I took a glance at the “rare bird alert” reports for the places we’d just inspected. Green Kingfisher. Montezuma Quail. Grey Catbird. Elegant Trogon. All seen exactly where we had been… All seen the day we left… If my binoculars had been handy at that moment, I probably would’ve thrown them out the window, ceremoniously declaring an end to my birding days.

More often than not, we as birders come home without the birds we’d hoped to find. (At least I do.) We hunt for a rarity that decides not to emerge until the instant we give up and go home. We visit places that we suspect will be filled with plenty of birds to inspect and admire only to find that they seem to be quietly hiding and in no mood for visitors. It’s a hobby often rife with disappointment, it would seem. And yet still we go, waking before sunrise, trudging through mud or snow, driving for hours and hours, always fueled by the thin hope that we’ll bear witness to a sighting from the rare bird alerts, that we’ll add one more sighting to our lifetime tally, or that we’ll simply see something of personal significance to ourselves alone. Perhaps as much as the birds themselves, what we as birders truly enjoy is the adventure of trying to find them. We remember not only the birds we find, but the birds we fail to find. The victorious tales of finding an avian specialty are sometimes just as good as the stories of spectacular failure. Whether successful in our pursuits or not, we remember the stories of what we’ve done for the birds.

Written by Cassondra Wiley. Photographs by Rod Jimenez.

Summer Doldrums

Summer Doldrums

Red-crested Cardinal

My first camera went with me everywhere, including Hawaii.

I’ve had writer’s block lately. Part of that has been the birding summer doldrums. We’re in between migrations, the singing and displays have largely stopped, and the birds seem to disappear into hiding places during the summer heat.

The other part is that I’m feeling a bit lost with birding at the moment.

Many years ago, I treated myself to an entry-level DSLR camera. Although birds were not my main target originally, I eventually blended my budding interest in birds with photography. The camera served as my eyes to uncovering the secrets and nuances of bird identification. This little camera went everywhere with me, and it helped me through countless ID questions as a beginner. Amazingly, I didn’t own a pair of binoculars for years. Instead, my close-up view of the birding world was through my camera.

My faithful little camera finally called it quits after countless adventures, and it was time for me to find a replacement. I splurged and bought a common birding set-up with an intermediate-level DSLR and a new 100-400mm lens.

A couple months ago, in a parking area of a favorite birding spot, our car was broken into and my camera gear stolen from the trunk. We came out of the experience unharmed, but the emotional toll is still present.

Birding without a camera feels foreign to me. Although I now appreciate the ease and lightness of binoculars, I’ve always enjoyed snapping a picture of a bird. It not only helps with hard IDs, but seeing a picture brings up memories of each trip that puts a smile on my face long after the experience has passed. Photos of birds is a personal pleasure and I enjoy sharing favorite images along with their stories.

I’ve now recovered enough to look into a replacement. I hope to have something soon in time for fall migration.

Crime has unfortunately been climbing substantially in the Bay Area. Here are some tips that I’ve learned from this experience:

  1. Your personal safety is worth more than things. Protect yourself first and foremost.
  2. I’ve learned that gear is most commonly stolen from the trunks of cars. Even though I stored my camera and purse in the trunk prior to arriving at the location (a habit that I thought would protect from car break-ins), apparently those intent on pursuing car thefts will opportunistically rummage through your trunk. Bear this in mind when deciding what to pack from home for an outing.
  3. Take note if there is broken auto glass in a parking area. It means a break-in has likely happened there previously, and probably recently.
  4. Register your gear, and sign up for insurance to protect your belongings.
Birding Meditation

Birding Meditation

Landscape 2017

“To meditate is to pay full attention to something.”

-Thich Nhat Hanh

There’s been a lot of publicity around meditation and mindfulness, even before the pandemic but certainly during the last year and a half. The market is flooded with meditation products, whether it’s books, guided meditation apps, or various trinkets to support the pursuit of calm.

“Meditation” or “mindfulness” can conjure up different meanings or images depending on the person. Perhaps most prevalent is the image of sitting alone on the floor, fully upright, and focusing on breathing.

I personally have practiced breathing meditation (although I’m usually on the sofa, slouched), and I find it useful for stressful days. But I can also find it exceptionally difficult. I’m an active person, as in, I don’t sit still very well. If I’m sitting down, I’m wiggling my legs. If I’m standing, I’m bouncing in place. Stillness and breathing is an excellent option for me at times, but it is by no means the only way to achieve calm and presence.

Unbeknownst to me until recently, I’ve been practicing meditation for years unintentionally. As you’ve probably guessed, it’s through birding! I like Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh’s approach to meditation, which is to be fully present and engaged in whatever activity you are doing. If your thoughts wander, then you gently bring your attention back to the activity at hand. This could be while breathing, walking, gardening, driving, brushing your teeth, eating, basically everything. And of course, that includes birding.

Birding is a perfect meditation activity. I’ve personally gone into states of hyperfocus as I listen for calls, songs, or rustling leaves. I’m tuned in to every slight movement in the air, trees, ground, roofs, or bushes. I’m laser-focused, in the moment, and wholly engaged with all my senses, and anxious thoughts no longer pelt my mind. This is presence, meditation, and promoting a deeper connection and appreciation of nature.

If you want to meditate and haven’t found the right activity, try thinking of your birding as a natural activity for this effort. Doing it for 5-10 minutes each day can do wonders!

Mistakes Were Made

Mistakes Were Made

Savannah Sparrow

Sparrows are notoriously difficult to ID. Savannah Sparrow

Each morning my inbox is full of rare bird alerts from eBird. Before deciding to pursue a rare bird, I carefully review the unconfirmed reports to ascertain whether I think the ID is reliable. It’s so easy to make mistakes – identifying birds can be super hard!

It always makes my heart sink when I receive an email informing me that I’ve misidentified a rare bird. The local eBird admin reaches out for clarification or to request a correction in the list. After all, eBird is used by researchers and conservationists in their studies, and they need a reliable data set, especially when it comes to a bird that it out of its range.

Although it’s difficult to absorb that your public rare bird posting was in error, I (eventually) see mistakes as a good teaching moment. It builds our knowledge about particular species, and we can apply this the information in the future.

I now know that Red-breasted Sapsuckers in the winter may have worn feathers that affects the amount of red in the head and breast, i.e. not a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. Immature Ferruginous Hawks can have stripes on their tails, which I did not find in any of my field guides (I did find a couple examples in the Macauley Library media). A young European Starling venturing out for the first time looks super weird and does not resemble the adult unless you focus in on its structure. These were lessons learned either from an eBird admin or through posting pictures to online Facebook birding groups, and this information is now burned into my brain for future use.

If you’re new to birding and use eBird to report sightings, you may find that a bird you see is rare for your area or for that time of year. If so, try to get a picture or record its vocalizations on your phone, but at the very least spend time thoroughly examining its features. Work your way from bill to tail. Examine the size and color of the bill, the eyes and facial features, patterning and colors in its wings/back/breast, and markings in the tail. Online apps such as Merlin ID and iNaturalist are great starting points, but a rare bird sighting typically requires more documentation such as media or your own description of the bird in question.

Most of all, enjoy the rare bird you spot. They are far away from home and may be visiting you for only a short moment.

Spring Is In The Air!

Spring Is In The Air!

Bushtit

Spring is in the air! Flowers are blooming, warmth from the sun pokes through chilly winds, and the world is filled with bird chatter.

Springtime brings on the breeding season, so birds are doing their best to show off brightly-colored plumage, inviting nesting territories, and belting out their best tunes. It’s a birder’s paradise and a welcome change from a cold, gloomy winter.

Now is also a great time for patch birding – observing birds in the same area over a span of time. A patch could include your backyard, your neighborhood, a favorite hike in a park, basically any place where you become familiar with the surroundings and eventually start to notice patterns.

I consider a neighborhood walk as my birding patch. During the winter, a single White-throated Sparrow would appear with a flock of White-crowned Sparrows in a bush in front of a certain house. I’d only see it before the noon hour. I noticed that the larger flocks of Bushtits have reduced in size, sometimes with a single Bushtit or a pair foraging alone. I followed on and found it building its hanging nest, which I now check on periodically. From my window, I noticed the neighborhood pigeon pair starting to fly back and forth to a certain spot on a nearby building. A closer look confirmed nesting material was being transported in their beaks – a sign of nest building.

Patch birding is a great way to get to know your community of birds, and what better time to begin than in the spring with all its highly visible activity!